Socks
by darthsydious
Summary: Molly's house-rule is most annoying and undignified, in Mycroft's opinion. The things he does for Molly Hooper. Brotp Mollcroft. Sherlolly if you squint. Anthea knows what's up.


Mycroft stared down at the diminutive pathologist, attempting to affix her with his sternest glare that would convey just how wrong she was. If there was a more final word than 'No', Mycroft had not yet learned it, though he'd heard rumors that his glares came quite close.

Molly Hooper, the large-hearted pathologist merely looked right back at him with the sternness a mother had after cleaning the entire house to face her rugby-playing child.

"I am _not_ taking my shoes off." Said Mycroft.

"Well I can't have you tracking all over the house!" Molly insisted, hands on her hips.

"My shoes are perfectly clean!" he retorted, and in a very un-dignified manner, balanced on one foot to show her the bottom of one shoe.

"I don't know where your shoes have been, you've been all over London," Molly answered. "I make everyone take their shoes off." a long pause. "Sherlock and John always take their shoes off. I once had Greg, Sally, Anderson as well as the boys all in my kitchen in their sock-feet."

Mycroft pulled himself to full height. "I am hardly Scotland Yard-"

"Yet you insist you only occupy a minor position in the government. We both know that's bull, so take off your shoes if you want any tea." with that she turned and marched off to the kitchen.

Mycroft glared at her retreating form. If she weren't so bloody important to Sherlock he'd turn right around and leave.

However he could smell what she'd made for tea, and the rumble in his belly reminded him all he had waiting for him at his office was a cold sausage roll.

Glancing around, half-expecting Sherlock to pop around the corner with a camera, he carefully toed off his shoes.

There he stood. Mycroft Holmes, one of the most powerful men in the Empire, who consulted with the Queen on a daily basis, standing in Molly Hooper's entryway in his polka-dot patterned sock-feet.

He felt _ridiculous._

He he was about to say so as well when Molly returned with a shoe-box, new, by the looks of it.

"Here. Not as fancy as what you have at home, but they're brand new, and sometimes my floors can be cold."

Setting down his briefcase, he opened the box to find a pair of men's leather slippers.

If taking ones shoes off was undignified, scuffing ones feet into slippers was probably worse. Well, at least he would not catch a chill, and Molly had considered his comfort.

The slippers were comfortable (much as he hated to admit it) though that provided little consolation, for as he walked, the bottoms flapped against the hard floor with every step.

He was silently winging about the stupid slippers, glaring at his shoes by the front hall, at the perfectly clean rug in Molly's flat that wouldn't show dirt at all, even if his shoes were dirty (which they weren't).

Suddenly, Molly set a tray down, and Mycroft forgot for a moment why he was quietly grousing.

Molly had made toasted cheese sandwiches, hot soup and deliciously fragrant black tea. There was good strong cheese and cream crackers (a weakness of his) and delicious marmalade and clotted cream for scones.

"Sorry," she murmured. "Whenever I have company for tea, I tend to make too much."

Mycroft was struck by her generosity and sincerity. He knew very well Molly did not often have company, excepting Sherlock or John, occasionally Anthea, his personal assistant. He saw suddenly she had all the earmarks of a lonely woman who liked to please people, and found himself wishing she had a family to care for. She was just the sort to.

"I am grateful," Mycroft said. "It has been some time since I've sat down to a proper tea."

"I'd have thought you have a nice meal every day, with the people you rub elbows with," she said, reaching for the teapot.

"Not as often as you think. There's rarely time, and those that do put out tea usually only have watercress and little nibbles. Hardly filling."

"And you hate watercress."

"How did you know that?" he asked, accepting a plate and cup from her.

"Sherlock told me," she smiled, flushing a little.

"Why should he tell you that?" Mycroft asked, curious.

"When he suggested I have you over for tea, he warned me you rarely ate, and if I was do try and feed you as I do him, that I ought to know what you dislike."

"I see." he studied her a moment. "And how long did it take you to get that information from him?" Her surprised expression nearly made him laugh. "Come, my dear, my brother would never suggest this visit. I think it more likely you wished for it, and he begrudgingly gave you the information you wished for, to please you."

"Well, that may be," she said, quirking a smile.

"May I inquire as to why you wished for my company?"

She took a bite of her sandwich, thoughtful. After a moment, she shrugged. "You always seem like you need a friend."

He nearly grimaced (he refrained out of politeness). "I don't do 'friends'."

"I don't have time for normal friends," she shrugged. "My schedule is helter-skelter, yours even more-so. Besides, we seem to like a lot of the same things, and I'd bet you'd make me take my shoes off if ever I was in your house."

"I would not," he bristled, indignant, so much so that he spoke with his mouth full. She laughed, handing him a napkin. "Excuse me," he murmured, once he'd swallowed.

As the conversation went on, Mycroft found himself relaxing. Molly didn't say anything when his phone buzzed in his pocket, nor did she question him. In fact she made him feel quite comfortable. He had full expected this visit to be as uncomfortable as a visit home to mother and father. Instead he found himself relaxing, enjoying the warm meal and even the conversation, a true rarity in his life. She even made him laugh once or twice.

Finally, Anthea texted him. Time for another meeting.

"Back to work?" she asked, seeing him frown at his mobile.

"Indeed."

"Well if you'd like to come back, you're welcome to," she said.

He looked at her as she gathered up the tea tray. "Week after next would be easily arranged."

"Yes that suits," she nodded. She disappeared into the kitchen to put the tray away and Mycroft lost no time scuffling across the floor and putting on his shoes in privacy. He'd finished by the time Molly had put up the tray and rinsed the cups and plates.

"You know you don't have to simply schedule visits, Mycroft," Molly said, coming to lean against the front hall. "My friends are welcome whenever they like. Nobody ever has normal schedules in my life, not even me."

Mycroft studied her once more, understanding too well what an unusual schedule felt like.

"Yes, well...we shall see," he said at last. He paused, hand on the door. "Doctor Hooper,"

"Molly,"

"Doctor Hooper," he went on, "If...should my brother ever realize what a treasure he has found in you, whether friendship or more...I hope you know you needn't win my approval,"

Molly stared up at him, shocked.

"You're quite exceptional," he continued. "I don't think he's worthy of you, but if anything should come about, I am more than happy to preemptively give my support as well as whole-hearted approval."

She smiled shyly, flushed. "Well, that's sweet of you to say, though I doubt he'll ever..." she trailed off, shaking her head. "Anyway, i'm glad you could come, and I hope you'll come again, for tea or anything, I like to take care of my friends."

"I shall be pleased to do so," he said. He glanced at the slippers he'd left by the door.

"Yes you'll have to take your shoes off next time too," she laughed. "But don't worry, I won't let anyone wear your slippers, I promise."

"Small comforts," he grumbled, rolling his eyes.

"Oh go on, go save the world," she grinned, and he left, muttering under his breath.

Climbing into the car, he sat next to Anthea with a sigh.

"Have a nice time?" she asked, not looking up from her phone, a planner sat on her lap.

"Wretched. She made me take my shoes off."

"Poor baby," Anthea replied. "I take it you won't be going back."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm to return in two weeks. Make sure it's in the schedule. And see that a proper set of 'Fawlty Towers' is sent to Doctor Hooper. She has some wretched, ratty video cassette tapes."

Anthea merely grinned at her phone, thoroughly amused as she set up the appointment.

"See that Sherlock figures it out himself too, about these meetings with Doctor Hooper. Perhaps that will help his feelings along."

"What, for Doctor Hooper?"

"Yes of course, whom else?"

"You're really going back, even though she made you take your shoes off and served toasted cheeses?"

"Well..." Mycroft shifted uncomfortably under Anthea's gaze. "She is my brother's friend." When she said nothing, he rolled his eyes. "Very well, if you must know she is exceptionally good, and my brother obviously loves her. She is his match and I should be only too pleased to help them along."

"And?"

"And?" Mycroft parroted.

"And you quite like the idea of her as your sister in-law."

"Oh do shut up," he huffed, pulling out his mobile. Still, as Anthea turned back to her work, she caught Mycroft's smile.


End file.
